Waves Drag You Under
by coldqueen
Summary: A sliceoflife piece about H and Q. Our favorite couple is forced to face a normal situation, one that involves the possible patter of little feet.


A/N: I was writing this week's update for Titus Andronicus, and found myself toying with the idea of a one-shot featuring everyone's favorite couple (except you BM/WW freaks) (I joke) (Not really). So, finally with time on my hands, I decided to write it.

I hope we all enjoy.

* * *

It was easy to use force to solve a stressful situation. To use your fists instead of your words, and to hurt those around you into backing off. It was easy and the coward's way out. Huntress had never been a coward, and despite her reputation for extreme violence, however warranted it was, she preferred to use her words as weapons and leave the blood for the prison yard.

However, she couldn't find the fists of rage or the words of wisdom to help her deal with her current problem.

Her bedroom lay dark beyond the bright white light of her bathroom, where she sat huddled on the floor. It was clean, almost freakishly so since in the past three days she'd cleaned this room and the rest of her home several times. She could think of little else to do with her hands. The worries weighed her down like a ton of bricks, and she'd been unable to even go on patrol, let alone focus on crime fighting.

Across from her, equally silent and brooding, the Question sat. He was her lover, her confidante, her best friend, and possibly the father of her child. She found herself not regretting any of those titles as she sat there on that floor. She found herself only regretting that she'd never told him many things, things that needed to be said, but that she couldn't ever let go of her boundaries to do so.

_Five minutes and counting down._

Helena leaned her head back, trying to ease the tension that suddenly stiffened her spine and made her hunched over figure strain at the relaxed position she kept it in. She wanted to pace, to walk out the unconscious tensions that made it difficult to stay in one place. His eyes, so deeply blue that they looked almost black, were hooded with shields as they watched her fidget.

She could have done this alone, and taken care of it without him ever knowing. Truthfully, given his skills with subterfuge and secrets, he'd probably find out within hours. He'd know, but because of his beliefs, he'd never say anything. He'd keep it to himself, how he felt about the situation, how he felt about what'd she done, and how it was costing him to not say anything.

Victor was a private man, but a man who knew the necessaries of communication in a relationship. Whereas Helena was an action person, moving and doing things on impulse, in both life and professional areas, Victor was a talker, who liked to think aloud and make sure that words were said. He liked to articulate everything that crossed his mind. He'd told her that he thought he was in love with her on their first date. She'd laughed it off, but sitting here watching him she knew that he'd meant it. He was the most honest man she'd ever met, and sometimes she didn't find that to be a good thing.

_Four minutes and counting._

She could never get herself to think of him as Vic, even if aloud she called him that. It was such a crude form of his name, in no way matching the grace and wit that she'd come to love in him. Still, perhaps because he preferred it that way, or perhaps because it pleased her to keep something from him, she called him Vic aloud.

She also called him other things, but none were quite as polite as that one.

Even now, he's watching her. Trying to figure out what she was thinking, even as they waited for the longest minutes of their lives to pass. This scene wasn't about a big fight, or some great enemy. This was about the two of them, and something coming to pass they hadn't planned on.

Would it change them? Would they find themselves leaving old goals behind for new ones? Would he ask things of her she wasn't willing to give? Would she do the same of him? In the end, she didn't know, and it scared her. The unknown, the unpredictable, the...question mark that comes at the end of the sentence.

Victor straightens a bit where he sits, shaking his shoulders as he stretches. Beside him, his mask is folded and put securely in reach. When he wears it, it feels like real flesh, and it often creates some creepy visuals in her dreams. The faceless man, without emotion or weakness, and she was so often at his mercy that she surprised herself. To give over control to a man? To not be in control?

Sometimes she wondered if he did have meta-abilities, and if he was using them to make her his forever...and then she remembers that if that's the case, she doesn't care.

_Three minutes and counting._

He speaks, one word so soft that she barely hears it, but as silent as this white tomb of tile is, it practically echoes. "Helena?"

In an instant, she's across the floor and in his arms, her limbs shaking from released tension. He pulls her close, wrapping arms and legs around her as she cuddles into the safety he suggests with just his presence.

He smells of soap, clean and fresh, and Old Spice aftershave. It was the same brand her father had worn, and just being near it made something in her quiet. Coming into his arms had always been like coming home.

This wasn't an end all. Her man would never let it be that, because he understood her better than she did. She needed the fight, the adrenaline; she needed that rush of danger that accompanied each night of independence. He could afford to let her go because he knew that she would always return. They had their fights, their bouts of jealousy, they even had their physical blow-outs; but love was what it was. He loved her with the all-consuming passion that he knew would one day be the end of him. She was the light at the end of the tunnel, and the knife that made him bleed.

He doubted she realized that he would never leave her. Not voluntarily. Since the first day he'd seen her, he'd loved her. Spirit, vibrant but true, had reached from her eyes and into his and stroked something to life he'd long thought repressed down. He would be forever grateful, for even in the pain of this indecision, he'd not be anywhere else for all the money in the world.

_Two minutes and counting._

She turns in his arms, so that they both face the wall opposite. Her fingers entwined with his, both of them unaware of how those fingers rested on the small swell of her stomach. Neither really knows how they want this to end, and neither really wants to know. How do you make a decision like this, to effectively accept or decline the very hope of permanence to them?

Both were free-spirits, moving with the wind, adaptable in their situation, but this? This could change the very breath of their relationship. This could make or break them, and neither was quite sure how to deal. It was a first, for both of them, in many ways.

He'd never known a moment in his life where he wasn't aware of the answer before the question was asked.

She'd never known a moment where she wasn't fighting in some way, shape, or form.

_One minute and counting._

Silence, if possible, became even quieter. The world stilled, holding itself petrified, and the fates themselves took notice. Make or break, change or not, hope or despair, and they all mixed in that little room, with it's bright light and dark thoughts.

The entire world stood on end, attention on the couple, and the clock winded down.

She was the first to move, leaning forward to snatch the long wand off the counter. She clutched it close to her chest, not looking as she laid her other hand on his where it rested on her knee. "Promise me."

He leaned forward, pulling her to his chest, nuzzling her neck. "I promise."

She didn't know what she asked him to promise, and neither did he. It was something, though, and it made her eyes well with unspent tears. How had she gained such a love, in such a spiteful world? What had she done to deserve him?

Finally, squeezing at his hand, she looked down at the wand. It was blue on one end, which she correctly took to be a negative. The sigh of relief that tried to escape hitched in her throat and she collapsed into his arms, the cold of the floor nothing compared to the cold she suddenly felt with this news.

He too saw the result, but took the wand from her to set aside. Pushing her head to the side, he slowly ran his hand down her ebony hair, trying to sooth her from a pain that he couldn't fathom.

Tears leaked from her eyes, despite any tries to stop them. She turned her head, the better to see him. "Why does it hurt when this is the result I wanted?"

He smiled and laid a gentle kiss on her cheek. "We can never know what we truly want, Helena."

She nodded and turned away, pushing herself deeper into his hold. With a sigh, not without his own pain, Vic reached up and turned off the bathroom light, safely ensconcing themselves in the dark, where they belonged.

Her form shook as the tears came faster and harder. "I love you, Vic."

He smiled, and slowly stood, bringing her into his arms as he did so. "I love you, Helena."

The night wasn't a complete loss.


End file.
